Dark Nights, Stars are Bright
by music842
Summary: Snippets of Dally's time in New York, as told to Johnny.


**S.E. Hinton owns everything.**

The only light that permeated the neighborhood was that of a single cigarette. Clouds hung low over the sky, blocking out any stars from shining through. The power had gone out hours ago, lightning taking out one of the main lines. There was no light coming from any houses, and all of the street lights were out. It was relatively quiet for this side of Tulsa; everyone seemed to be inside trying to escape from the sweltering heat, not that it would do any good seeing as there was no power to run any fans.

Dallas Winston was outside, though. Buck had kicked everyone out after the power had been out for a good half an hour, saying someone was going to get themselves killed, and the place would still be there tomorrow. It seemed like a piss poor excuse to him, and Dally didn't particularly like sitting out there in the empty lot by himself, it gave him too much time to think. He wanted to be doing something, out making trouble, not sitting around. When he sat for too long, he'd remember New York. It had been over a year since he'd left the city, but the memories stayed with him, clear as if they had happened yesterday. At least New York didn't get this hot. A bead of sweat slowly rolled down his face.

He thought about going to the Curtis' place; Mrs. Curtis wouldn't mind, she never did, she took in practically every no-good hood in the neighborhood, but it would be just as hot over there, and he'd probably get some speech about being too young to be at Buck's. Truth be told, a small part of him didn't mind the speeches so much. But he would never acknowledge that. Even to himself.

Just as Dally had leaned back against the old oak tree at the back of the lot, hoping to close his eyes at least for a little bit, a quiet rustling snapping him to attention. The Socs didn't usually come this far into their territory, but the three years he'd spent in New York had left Dally with his guard always up, always anticipating the next attack. He pulled his switchblade out of his back pocket, his eyes shining ferociously, ready to attack at any moment.

The footsteps got closer, and Dally tightened his grip on his knife. But as his eyes focused on the person standing in front of him, he realized it was just that kid that Ponyboy hung around, Johnny.

"Jesus, kid, I could'a killed you, sneakin' up on me like that!" Dally stuck out his switchblade for emphasis. "Thought you woulda had more of a head than the Curtis kid. If you ain't more careful 'round here, one of these days it ain't gonna be me you run into, but a couple of Socs."

Johnny stared at Dallas wide-eyed. That was probably the most the tow-headed, dangerous boy had said to him. "S..sorry." Johnny looked down at his shoes. "My father...I ain't really got anywhere else to go. He was gettin' drunk again, screamin' bloody murder." He said the last part more to himself.

Dally looked at the younger boy. His initial reaction was that of disgust; he had learned himself at an early age how to avoid his own father, and later on, when he got stronger, he kicked the shit out of him once or twice, and he never bothered him again, except for his occasional outbursts when he would call him a piece of shit, or whatever other name his alcohol-riddled brain could come up with. That didn't bother him, though. His own father was in such a sorry state that Dallas would laugh when he said those things.

"Why don't ya fight back?" The whole idea of not fighting back tooth and nail was bewildering to Dallas.

"I..I can't. He's my father." Johnny said this, his words pained, but still stated as if it were the most obvious reason in the world.

The naivete of this boy startled Dallas. Even the Curtis brothers, with their parents knew what was up. This kid would be eaten alive.

Too tired to reason further with Johnny, Dallas sat back down against the tree. Hopefully he'd get at least a couple hours sleep before dawn. Maybe it'd cool off a little.

"Dallas?"

Dally cracked one eye open. The kid had moved directly across from him, and was staring at him like he expected him to relay some sort of prophecy.

"What?" Dallas asked gruffly.

"Why are you out here?"

"'Cause there ain't no parties goin' on with the power out." Dallas closed his eyes again.

Johnny looked at him expectantly.

"I told ya, kid, there ain't nothin' going on. Now let me get some sleep, or get outta here." Dally knew that wasn't what Johnny was asking, but he didn't care. Everyone in the neighborhood besides the Curtises had shitty parents. He'd learn that soon enough.

"What about your parents? Don't you live with them?" Johnny spoke so quietly, Dally barely heard him. And if it were anyone else, he would have punched them straight in the face without even thinking twice. But something made him stop. The kid was just so out of it, didn't know any better. It was like he had some fucked up belief that the world was inherently good, and he just got dealt a bad hand. Dally knew better. The whole world was fucked up.

"My parents? My parents are just like anyone else's parents this side of town. Yours aren't some special case. 'Cept most people know how to fight back." Dally's voice hardened as he spoke. It had been a long time since anything his parents did had affected him in any way.

Johnny looked down, dejected. "I just...can't. I know they're terrible, but they're still my parents." He knew how to fight, you had to learn living on their side of town, but he couldn't do that to his own flesh and blood, even if they had no problem shoving him around.

Something, he didn't know what, but something made Dallas take pity on the younger boy. Tulsa was making him soft. "Listen, kid, I lived in New York for three years. It made me tough. If you didn't get tough there, you'd die, simple as that." And it was that simple. Get tough, and nothing can touch you.

"What's New York like?" Johnny hadn't been outside of their neighborhood, much less out of state. New York may as well have been on another planet.

Dallas had told the gang about New York. How he had been thrown in jail at the age of ten. About all the jumpings he'd been part of. All the fights he'd been in. But never anything else. Not when _he'd_ been jumped. Not when he'd seen a dead body for the first time. Not when Alex died. Not all the times he'd found his mother passed out drunk. Or the winter months he spent sleeping in alleyways.

A rumble of thunder sounded ominously overhead, and Dally felt a droplet of rain hit his face. He thought about not answering Johnny. Or retelling one of the stories he'd already told the gang, one of the impressive ones. But the way the kid was looking at him...

"Listen, kid, those stories I tell the gang, they're all true, but it was hard. It was hard just to stay alive." Why was he telling him this? "Some of the things I did...I ain't proud of."

Johnny nodded, and Dally continued. "I had this one buddy, Alex, he was a couple years older than me. We looked out for each other." It was more like Alex looked out for _him_. Dally was only ten when his father had moved them all to the city. He hadn't been as innocent as Johnny, but he was still sorely out of place in the violent, adult world he had been thrust into. This kid didn't need to hear that, though.

"This one time, we walked down to the Village, and we snuck into this jazz club. Just for the hell of it, to see if we could get away with it." They had heard John Coltrane at the Vanguard. Dally hadn't known what he was listening to, but it had stuck with him. It was probably the only time he had _really_ listened or paid attention to anything.

Johnny stared at Dallas. He had never heard him speak that way. He doubted anyone else had, either.

"I've gotta get some sleep, kid," Dallas said, putting out his cigarette and stretching back out against the tree. The weather was starting to break, and he could feel a hint of cool air starting to push through the humidity. He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

Johnny curled up against the back fence, and stared up into the sky. The clouds had cleared, and without the lights of the city, the stars shone as bright as he had ever seen them.


End file.
